Don’t wait.

Say it. The words you’ve been holding back. The feelings you’ve repressed. The memories you want to resurface. The forgiveness you want to give. The ‘I love you’s’ you may be scared of. Say it.

Do it. Send the letter you were always too scared to send. Take the vacation you’ve been dying to go on. Strike a conversation with a stranger. Run through your neighborhood, even if just for a few minutes. Visit family who aren’t promised to be here tomorrow. Do it.

Feel it. The hurt you’ve suffered. The joy you have been blessed with. The frustrations that bother you. The appreciation of the little things. The satisfaction of success. The love of another. Feel it.

What if you woke up tomorrow with only things you were thankful for today? Now is the time to start living in the moment. 

‘We made quite a mess, babe.’

When we’re trying to move on, the moments we always go back to aren’t the mundane ones. They are the moments you saw sparks that weren’t really there, felt stars aligning without having any proof, saw your future before it happened, and then saw it slip away without any warning. These are moments of newfound hope, extreme joy, intense passion, wishful thinking, and in some cases, the unthinkable letdown. And in my mind, every one of these memories looks the same to me. I see all of these moments in bright, burning red.

My experiences in love have taught me difficult lessons, especially my experiences with crazy love. The red relationships. The ones that went from zero to a hundred miles per hour and then hit a wall and exploded. And it was awful. And ridiculous. And desperate. And thrilling. And when the dust settled, it was something I’d never take back. Because there is something to be said for being young and needing someone so badly, you jump in headfirst without looking. And there’s something to be learned from waiting all day for a train that’s never coming. And there’s something to be proud of about moving on and realizing that real love shines golden like starlight, and doesn’t fade or spontaneously combust.

Taylor Swift, ‘Red’ prologue. No explanation necessary.